Gamay hid her surprise with a shrug and girded herself for more questions, but just then, MacFarlane's cell phone rang, saving them from another round of the third degree. He excused himself, got up and moved into the hall, out of earshot. A few minutes later, he came back in and said, “Thanks for your time, folks. You can go.”

“I won't argue with you, Officer, but could you tell us what's going on?” Paul said. “A minute ago, we were public enemies one and two.”

The worried expression that had been on MacFarlane's face ear- lier was replaced by a friendly smile. “That was the station. We made some inquiries when we saw the ID cards in your wallets. Just got a call from Washington. Seems like you two are pretty important peo- ple at NUMA. We'll prepare a couple of statements and get them to you for additions and signatures. Anywhere we can take you?” He seemed relieved at the resolution of a difficult situation.

“A rental-car agency might be a good start,” Gamay said.

“And a pub would be a good finish,” Paul said.

On the drive to the car rental office, Duffy dropped his bad-cop act and told them how to get to a pub where the beer and food were good and cheap. The policemen, who were going off-duty, invited themselves along, too. By the time they got into their second pint, the detectives were very talkative. They had retraced the Trouts' foot- steps, talking to the B-and-B owners and a few regulars around the waterfront. Mike Neal was still missing, and the man named Gro- gan had also disappeared. There was no telephone number for the Oceanus plant. They were still trying to contact the corporation's in- ternational office, but were having little luck.

Gamay ordered another beer after the police officers left. She blew off the foamy head and, in an accusatory tone, said, “That's the last time I take a drive in the country with you.”

“At least you didn't break any bones. I have to drink my beer with my left hand. And how am I going to tie my bow ties?”

“Heaven forbid you use snap-ons, you poor boy. Have you seen the dark circle under my eye? I believe it's what we called a mouse when I was a kid.”

Paul leaned over and lightly kissed his wife on the cheek. “On you, it looks exotic.”

“I suppose that's better than nothing,” Gamay said, with an in- dulgent smile. “What do we do now? We can't go back to Wash- ington with nothing to show but a few lumps and repair bills for a nonexistent boat.”

He sipped his beer. “What was the name of that scientist Mike Neal tried to contact?”

“Throckmorton. Neal said he was at McGill University.” “Montreal! Why not drop by and see him, as long as we're in the neighborhood?”

“Brilliant idea!” Gamay said. “Enjoy your beer, Lefty. I'll update Kurt on our plans.”